


save me a spot

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [52]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Meet-Ugly, NOT uprising compliant i swear, Professor!Hermann, ceo!newt, newt stop stealing peoples' parking spots...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Hermann is very particular about his routine. Other people taking his parking spot isnotpart of his routine.





	save me a spot

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: “"You’re the bastard who keeps parking in front of my house and you just caught me drawing a dick on your window with a permanent marker… ugh, oops."”

For the most part, it’s a quiet neighbourhood; the tenants of the various flats are rarely, if ever, around due to various obligations, and when they are, Hermann is on fairly good terms with them.

Except—

_Except_.

For the past week, _someone_ has been taking the prime parking spot, the one that’s in the shade of the large tree that grows out front, the _one that Hermann parks in every day_.

The first day, he grits his teeth and seethes silently, slightly mollified by the thought that whoever it is will surely be gone by the next day. However, the next day—and the one after, and a fourth as well—the black Honda is in _his_ parking spot.

Hermann glares at it, wishing that the very hatred of his gaze could make it disappear.

No such luck; it’s there when he gets back from his last class. It’s there the entirety of the next day, and that’s when, in a fit a fit of rage, Hermann scribbles a note and slaps it under the windshield-wipers.

_To whom it may concern_ , it reads, in what may as well be chicken-scratch, _kindly remove your car, or I will be forced to take drastic measures._

What sort of drastic measures he would theoretically take, Hermann doesn’t know; hopefully, the letter will be enough of a deterrent. 

It’s not.

It is enough, however, for him to find a sticky-note one the main door, in equally-atrocious penmanship, that says, _yeah, dude, bring it ON_. Hermann scowls, the knuckles of one hand white around the head of his cane, and rips it off viscously, crumpling it into a ball.

The incident doesn’t leave his mind for the rest of the day, stewing like a pot on over a flame, and, slowly, he begins to formulate a counterattack.

The next morning, before the sun has even fully risen, the dew still on the grass, Hermann makes his way out of the flat and down the sidewalk, permanent marker in hand, a single objective in mind: revenge.

Carefully, he lowers himself into a kneeling position, bracing against the car for support and breathing a sigh of relief when no alarm goes off. He pulls off the cap of the pen, holding it between his teeth, and begins to draw on the window, spurned by spite—

“Hey!”

Hermann topples over at the shout, landing with a yelp of pain on the pavement. “ _Agh!_ ” he exclaims as a bolt of pain shoots through his leg, jerking upright, scrambling to try and get his leg out from where it’s gotten wedged between the car and the curb.

There’s the rapid sound of footsteps, and the man drops to his side, hisses, “Stop moving—you’re only going to make it worse!”

Hermann bites back a bitter retort that this is squarely the other’s fault; had he not startled Hermann, his leg would be just fine, and tries not to make any further pained sounds.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Hermann’s leg is free, and he slumps down on the pavement, not caring that he’s probably getting his clothing filthy. “What, no thank you?” asks the other, and Hermann grunts in reply, and turns his head to get a better view—

The man is dressed in clothing that, Hermann can tell, cost at least three times as much as his own, easily, hair meticulously styled. Hermann hates him instantly.

“I can’t believe you were drawing a dick on my car,” says the man, sounding more amused than upset. “What are you, twelve?”

“I can’t believe you stole my spot and ignored my written request,” Hermann shoots back, a note of petulance in his voice that is wholly due to the fact that he’s laying on the filthy pavement.

The man lets out a bark of laughter. “Dude!” he exclaims, “that was you? Man, I thought you were cute when I saw you when I first moved in—didn’t know you had a temper, though.” He grins.

Hermann scowls harder. “I do not. I was simply taking measures to regain my preferred parking spot.”

For some reason, that makes the man grin even wider. “Sweet,” he says.

Hermann grabs his cane from where it’s fallen and brings it, lightning-fast, to crack against the other’s shins, getting dust on his trousers, and relishes in the yelp of pain Newt lets out.


End file.
